Ice Sculptures
by butterflies-and-broken-dreams
Summary: He sits on his chair, scratching out the properties of the Devil's Snare and sneaks a glance at her, at those ghost-white, pointy cheekbones, her honeydew lashes...that long, ginger-blonde (like gold, he thinks faintly) hair and he doesn't mean to (he would never, ever mean to) but he feels pity.
1. Chapter 1

Warning: Swear words. Sexual references, but none too graphic

* * *

His hand brushes against hers one day, in Herbology (he's always hated the subject, he just took it to piss off his dad) and it feels...like _ice_.

So, _so_ cold, almost _frozen_ and she jerks away at the movement, sending him a glare (the sort of one that says 'touch-me-again-Malfoy-and-you're-dead) and a subtle kick underneath the table, but he is too busy thinking back to those freezing (but somehow warm) fingers to notice.

Small, bitterly cold (slowly defrosting, he hopes)...just like her _heart_.

* * *

Rose Weasley is the sort of girl that won't talk to someone unless they initiate the conversation and even then, will only give short, one word answers (yes or no, if she can get away with it), never raises her hand in class, or does her homework, wears that terribly-scary ear spike, no matter what Professor McGonagall has to say, and he gets it.

He really does.

Having to constantly live up to your parents, expected to be their little mini-me, getting blamed for things he didn't do (like setting fire to Slughorn's office), purely because his father is an ex-death eater. Not that she'd face _those_ kinds of problems, but he supposes that in a way, it's worse for her, all that pressure to be _better_, to do _better_, to save the Wizarding World for a second fucking time.

As little as he'd like to admit it, Scorpius understands her.

(_he'll never tell though_)

* * *

She's different, he appreciates, from all the other girls. Not all hearts, lipstick and butterflies and he highly doubts she gets her perfume specifically from Paris. The sort of girls who (and it's not like he's watching, or anything) give her those second glances in the hallway, practically spelling the word out with the little looks, and giggles, (the points and whispers) the unspoken rule of Rose Weasley.

That she's a _freak_.

He sits on his chair, scratching out the properties of the Devil's Snare and sneaks a glance at her, at those ghost-white, pointy cheekbones, her honeydew lashes...that long, ginger-blonde (like gold, he thinks faintly) hair and he doesn't mean to (he would never, ever mean to) but he feels pity.

(_and he also realises - not consciously, of course - that her hair smells of blackberries_)

* * *

Sometimes he thinks that they both ended up in the wrong house. Slytherin...never really suited him, (he's only ever had one detention, for Merlin's sake), just like the Sorting Hat had warned when he begged it to put him there.

Her in Gryffindor...well, sure she's got guts, (you can just tell from the ripped tights and overuse of mascara) but she isn't exactly sunshine and rainbows either, not like him (he's always been an optimist) and occasionally, he wonders why she isn't in Slytherin...isn't with _him_ (but _obviously_ the last part _never_ flits across his mind).

He doesn't really feel like he belongs in Slytherin. Rose doesn't act like she _belongs_ anywhere.

(m_aybe that's a good thing_)

* * *

It's at Slughorn's Christmas Party that he first truly _sees_ her, standing (all aloof and awkward) in the corner, black dress cut down to _way_ above her knees, alice-blue eyes lightly dusted with silver, (around the edges, of course), faded antique-white cardigan wrapped around her waist.

His date (who he practically had to beg to come with him) whispers that she's a slut, a dirty, filthy, rotten _whore_, showing off _way_ too much of her cleavage.

He doesn't point out that she's being a _little_ hypocritical, (that pink dress doesn't leave a lot to the imagination, and he's sure that if one of the guys in the room took off his shirt, she would have _no_ complaints) doesn't tell her to 'fuck off,' (which, he is sure, is what Weasley would have done in the situation) or storm out of the place.

(he just refills his glass of punch and continues to watch the girl in the corner)

* * *

"So, uh, did you get down the uses of mandrake root?"

She blinks those purple-lidded eyes, not answering the question, barely even looking at him in the first place, just continuing to stare at the potted plant in front of her.

"Question six of the homework. I, um, wasn't sure of the answer."

He fiddles with his quill, waiting for her to say something in reply.

"I didn't do it." Rose responds at last, and he thinks it's the most he's ever heard her say, to him, to anyone.

"All of it? Or just...some?"

She simply shakes her head, sending wisps of her auburn (like the leaves of autumn) hair flying into him and for some reason, he thinks back to the almost-touch, the time when he-held-her-hand-but-didn't.

(_and-it-was-kinda-nice_)

* * *

"You drinking, Malfoy?"

He gives a small nod in confirmation, downing the glass of firewhisky and ignoring the burning sensation at the back of his throat, eyes never leaving Rose, who sits in her own booth at the end of pub.

"Got a crush?" Dunn sniggers, following his line of his gaze.

"Weasley?" Parkin (Evan Parkin, to be more precise) raises a thin, blonde eyebrow. "Have some class."

"Why? What've you heard?" Scorpius asks, totally-not curiously (because he's _so_ not interested).

"Bitch likes to dress like a tart, but when it comes down to _it_, she acts like a total prude."

"Is this because she rejected you last year?" Riley jumps in, waving for the waitress to come over and refill their drinks. Evan turns slightly pink in the ears, scowl crossing over his face.

"I didn't know she was Weasley, alright? I was drunk off my arse - for all I know, that could have been a pig with make-up on."

"And you tell me to have _class_." Scorpius jokes.

(_but really, he feels a little sick inside_)

* * *

"Why are you out here in the snow?" he asks, slipping onto the bench beside Rose, rubbing his gloves together for warmth. "You'll catch frostbite. Look, you're not even wearing a coat."

She combs the layer of snowflakes out of her hair with her bare fingertips, not casting him the slightest bit of attention. "I'm cold." she whispers.

He takes of his jacket (that thick fur coat the other boys make fun of) and even though it's like minus one-fucking-hundred-degrees, (a slight exaggeration) reluctantly hands it over to her.

"It smells like mint." she says, tossing it back to him. "I hate mint."

"So...you're going to die of pneumonia purely because you don't like my scent?"

"My _scent_? Who are you, Giorgio Armani?"

He carries on, purely because he loves _talking_ to her, (a rare accomplishment) even if it is mostly insults. "I don't know who that is."

"Right. I forgot." Her teeth chatter slightly in the bitter wind. "Pureblood."

"Don't." Scorpius says, voice trailing off slightly. "I'm not...like _him_."

"I'm not like _her _either."

(_so he guesses they have an understanding_)

* * *

She is a haze, a purple-ish vision, hair wild and untamed as she stains blood-red kisses all down his throat, touching, teasing, _tasting, _wildflower perfume _intoxicating_ him, creeping up his nose and controlling his mind...his thoughts, _merlin_.

And her lips - those soft, plump, peachy lips, the ones that taste like lemonade, ravage his, lavender-blush creeping onto her pale, pale cheeks as she slides her arms (those icicle-like arms that suddenly feel so warm, hot, _burning_) around his neck, moonlit eyes staring up at him with...something.

"Scorpius." Rose sighs against him, smoky eyelids suddenly fluttering open -

(_and then he wakes up_)

* * *

"Mr. Malfoy." Professor Longbottom calls, beckoning him up to his desk at the front of the greenhouse. "And Miss Weasley, if you please."

Scorpius is torn between blushing (because of that not-quite-so-innocent dream he had of them last night that is he is very, _very_ ashamed of) and wondering if he's in trouble. "Yes, sir?" he asks, innocently enough (what does he have to be guilty of?)

"I was thinking..." he studies both their faces carefully. "Mr. Malfoy is doing exceptionally well in this class - "

"I am?"

"Yes. But, Miss Weasley," Scorpius casts her a sideways glance and finds that she is refusing to look at either of them. "You aren't doing _quite_ as well - "

"I'm failing." Rose interrupts with a scowl.

"Er...unfortunately so. I was thinking that, since the two of you already sit together, Mr. Malfoy could tutor you after class?"

They respond at the same time, him with '_sure'_ and her with '_absolutely not_.'

"Miss Weasley, I really do think - "

"I'm not doing it." she says, turning her head around and flouncing out of the greenhouse. "And that's final."

(_he wishes she would_)

* * *

"Get out, Malfoy." She applies black lipstick to her lips, (which _of course_ is where his gaze trails down to) tone jaded and bitter. "I'm not going to change my mind."

"Believe me, I don't particularly want to be in the _girls_ dormitory." Scorpius casts an aside glance at the discarded bras hanging about the place, all the stacks of nail varnish and posters of boybands winking at him. "But I think you should reconsider."

"Why?" Rose tosses the bedsheet aside (and he notices, quite uncomfortably, that all she's wearing is her nightdress). "I'm already stupid."

"You're not. I think that with a little help - "

"From you."

"Yes, from me," he says, slightly confused. "You can...do really well."

"No."

"Fine," he shrugs, acting a lot less disappointed than he actually is. "Your choice."

(_and the next day, she slips him a note, telling him she'll do it_)

* * *

"So, uh, this is the greenhouse."

She rolls her rosy-brown eyes, picking up a pot and slamming it onto the table. "I know. We have Herbology here twice a week."

"I'm, um, sorry."

"You stutter a lot. And apologise." Rose points out, filling the pot with soil.

Scorpius notices how she doesn't flinch at the dirt that cakes her fingernails, not like all the other girls do, (ruining their _manicures_) how she does it with such ease, even more so than himself.

He clears his throat, pointing at the plant. "You do that well."

She sprinkles the seeds in and covers it back up with her fingers. "Yeah."

"I don't...understand why you're failing." He takes the packet from her and throws it into the waste-bin. "I mean, you're good at the coursework."

"I can plant, but the hard part is actually bringing myself to _care_ about something. Usually I just let it wither and die." she gives him a funny look. "And how'd you know about my coursework?"

"I...um, might have asked Professor Longbottom for a look at your book." Scorpius confesses, placing the pot on the shelf.

"Why?

"I don't know."

(_he so does_)

* * *

"It's late." Scorpius says, gesturing to the starbrite glass windows in the greenhouse. (and blushing after realising the pointlessness of pointing that out). "We should get back to the castle."

"Yeah." she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear (he can't help noticing how pretty it looks) and packs up her schoolbooks. "I guess so."

"You did great today."

"I did?"

"Why, don't you think so?" he asks, refilling the water-can and putting it back in it's place.

Rose shrugs. "Lack of confidence, I guess."

"I get that."

She stops rinsing her hands in the sink for a second. "But you're a Malfoy."

"I thought we said we weren't going to compare ourselves to our parents."

"I'm sorry."

(_did...Rose Weasley...just **apologise** to him_?)

* * *

"I brought the radio down." she explains, setting out her textbooks and equipment. "I thought it'd be more interesting."

"Is my conversation not enough for you?"

"Please, Malfoy, you're hardly Hayden Donnelly when it comes to wit and charm."

"Hayden Donnelly? As in, my cousin?" he asks, trying to ignore the jealousy building in his stomach.

"He's your fucking _cousin_?" Rose nearly drops her quill with shock. "Merlin, no way!"

"Second cousin's father's brother's something or other."

"Have you...uh, met him?" she clears her throat, trying not to seem too eager for his reply.

"A couple of years ago, at my aunt's wedding. Why are you so interested?" (the better question, he thinks to himself, is why is _he_ so interested, but then, he already knows the answer to that one).

"Are you kidding me? He's the lead singer of like, the greatest band on earth!" Rose nearly spills the watering can with excitement and he raises an eyebrow, trying his hardest not tough. "Mortuus es Me?"

"Rings a bell." Scorpius says thoughtfully. "I think he's the black sheep of the family."

"What? But he's _amazing_! And gorgeous - "

"He has a little too many piercings for my taste." He tries to repress the sudden urge to throw something against the wall.

"Could you introduce me?"

"Sure." Scorpius sighs, reassuring himself that she'll just thank him for it, someday.

(_and sadly enough, he thinks it's the most she's ever said to him_)

* * *

"This is weird." Rose comments lazily, tossing aside a copy of Witch Weekly (or, as she had called it 'complete bullshit') and kicking off her shoes.

"What is?"

"Going to your house. Sharing the same compartment on the train. I barely know you."

His heart sinks a little. "It's just a favour."

"You aren't even getting anything in return."

All the suggestions that flash through his mind are _way_ too inappropriate, so he settles for the safe option. "How about...you start making an effort in Herbology?"

"I had a feeling you were going to say that." She opens her suitcase and chucks something (quite hard, actually) at his head. "I brought my work."

"Oh. Good."

"Yeah."

(_and is that a **flush** he sees on her cheeks?_)

* * *

I don't own Harry Potter!

**A/N**: Part two (the final chapter) coming shortly! So what did you guys think? What was your favourite section? What was your least favourite (the last one for me, definitely)?


	2. Chapter 2

Warning: swearing

* * *

He is there, standing, as he always is, proud and tall, briefcase in hand, shooting a subtly arrogant smirk at all the other parents, just waiting for Scorpius to arrive and detail all of his 'misbehaviour' (made up, mostly, to impress him).

Scorpius grabs Rose's hand, (for effect, of course) which she, after fighting and scratching, reluctantly agrees to give to him and strides over there, prepared to _completely_ piss off his father, once and for all.

"Son," he greets, eying the girl next to him, and their entwined hands. "And..."

"Rose Weasley." She gives him a determined glare. "I'm a friend."

"Oh. Ron Weasley's daughter?"

Scorpius watches how her knuckles clench tighter, whiter than they were before, how her eyes begin to narrow and in a moment of rash stupidity, gives her hand a squeeze. "Yes," she answers finally.

"And will you be staying with us this Christmas?"

It's his turn to answer. "For a few days."

(_his father just turns and walks away, leaving them to struggle to catch up with him_)

* * *

"What the fuck _was_ that?" she hisses, flopping down onto the bed in the guest room. "Holding my fucking _hand_ in front of your father?"

"What?" Scorpius gives a small shrug. "It annoyed him."

"He'll think we're _dating_ or something!"

"Why does that thought make you so angry?" Thank Merlin he can act, otherwise that sentence would have been a hell of a lot more easy to read.

"Because it's a lie!" Rose throws an empty photo frame at his head (she likes to do that a lot, he notes, ducking down faster than he can blink). "We're not fucking dating!"

"No prize for guessing what _your_ favourite word is." Scorpius mutters to himself.

"Yeah, what's yours? _Bastard_?"

"Look, I'm sorry, alright? I'll explain to him that we're just friends."

"Barely even that."

(_and has little as he'd like to admit it, the words sting...a lot_)

* * *

"Hey, Weasley, you ready to go?" he calls, barging into her room before knocking. "Wow. That's...a cool dress."

She gives a small twirl (he has to snap out of staring at her) and tugs on a cardigan, tossing him that (damn near irresistible) smirk. "I have to impress Donnelly, don't I?"

He knows it's totally, totally stupid, because the only place she'll ever like him is in his imagination, but Scorpius can't help but feel...something stab at his stomach (about a hundred times).

Of-fucking-course she likes his cousin, (who she's never even met, anyway) because Scorpius Malfoy _doesn't_ get the girl, because he doesn't fit into any of the categories, not the bad-boy loner that they all seem to go for, not the typical, handsome Gryffindor hero, not even the adorable little Hufflepuff.

He's somewhere in the middle of that sliding spectrum of bad to good, ugly to attractive, dumb to intelligent, which means that he's just plain old Scorpius, forever alone, forever unloved, even by his father.

(_and it hurts like fucking hell_)

* * *

Scorpius can barely see her in the dimly-lit (very shady, he thinks to himself) atmosphere of the Leaky Cauldron, transformed into a performance-room, just for the night.

He has to hand it to Hayden, there's a fair few people there, not as many as, say 'The Ghastly Snowmen' (that shitty, shitty band all the other girls seemed to love) wound attract, but a decent number, not including himself and Rose.

But he can make out her silhouette, which seems to be _ridiculously_ excited, swaying along to the beat of the drums (which, if he has listened to her thrilled jabbering correctly, are played by someone named Rhys White).

"Let's go into the back-room!" he shouts over the racket (honestly, he's not sure how she can listen to this shit) to her. "Hayden will be there, he's not out yet!"

"Sure," she says, applying an extra layer of lipstick before following him as he pushes past the hordes of people into one of the only spots of light.

(_and he can't help noticing how pretty she looks underneath it_)

* * *

"Hey, Hayden!" Scorpius shouts, tugging her hand (slightly warmer than before) over to the edge of the room.

The man (around 21-ish, he thinks) gives him an odd look underneath that shit-ton of eye make-up, (seriously though, is that mascara?) and a sort-of scowl.

"It's me. Scorpius." Hayden continues to stare at him. "Your cousin?"

"What, do you want an autograph or something?" His accent is thicker than Scorpius remembers, that arrogant Sheffield brogue that for some reason seems to entice Rose.

"Yeah, uh, meet your biggest fan."

"Hey," Rose says, (more squeaks, Scorpius notes bitterly to himself) jumping up to shake his hand. "I'm, um, Zelda."

"No you're - "

"It's so great to meet you!" Her enthusiasm has reached the peak of an overexcited puppy, so typically not Rose Weasley it makes him want to laugh.

"Hi Zelda." Hayden takes out his pen and signs the piece of paper that she's clutching. "So, if you're my '_biggest fan,' _then what's the B-Side to Drifting Through The Stars?"

Rose bites her lip, clearly trying to think about the question.

"Thought so," he gives a sneer (cold, calculating, very Hayden-ish) and walks onstage.

"Don't listen to him." Scorpius reassures her. "He's a pretentious dick."

"Don't worry." Rose picks up the nearest glass of Firewhisky and downs the whole thing (he's impressed at how she doesn't sputter once). "I won't."

(_and then she picks up another one, and another, and another_)

* * *

"Scorpius." She lets out a giggle as he pulls her into the alleyway, trying his hardest to keep her upright and failing. "Scorpius."

"Yes, Rose?" He struggles with her dress, (because he really, really doesn't want to have to grab onto any of _those_ areas) attempting to keep her moving in a straight line, at least to the taxi (he's still sixteen and there's no fucking way she's apparating in that state).

"I want to kiss you," she leans that inch closer, cherry-flavoured lips barely centimetres from his and he's really, _really_ tempted, but then he remembers that she's _drunk_ and that if she were sober, there would be no way in hell of her doing _that_ to _him_.

"No, you don't." He pushes her (as gently as possible) into the back-seat of the taxi, climbing into the other side.

"Why don't you want to kiss me?"

Scorpius sighs. "Because, number one, you're _seriously_ drunk. Number two: you're giving me a whole lot of mixed signals. Number three, you won't even remember it in the morning."

(_and number four, he's scared he'll like it_)

* * *

"You feeling better yet?"

"Fuck off." This time, it's little more than a bracelet she throws at him, mainly because she is too tired to reach out any further and grab anything else.

He smirks. "I'll take that as a no."

"It's not fair. Why aren't _you_ hungover?"

"Because I didn't _drink_, that's why." For once, he's the one being sarcastic and it actually feels sort of good (he gets why she likes it).

Scorpius takes a tentative seat on the edge of the bed, as she clenches the duvet closer to her chest (he can only imagine what she's wearing underneath...on second thoughts, he won't).

"So, um, what do you remember of last night?"

The nervous-ness he's sure is in his voice doesn't seem to quite put her off. "Hayden...being a dick. Drinking. And that too-fucking-cute lip ring of his."

"Firstly - ew. Secondly - are you totally sure?"

"Why, did I try to molest anyone at the bar?" Rose jokes, rolling over onto her side.

He keeps quiet.

"Oh...my...god, I did, didn't I?" She lets out a soft groan, hitting herself on the head with her hands. "I was way too forward with a guy...Merlin I am such a pervert."

"You didn't get _too_ forward with the person." Scorpius corrects, knowing he is going to get himself into hot water, but carrying on anyway. "You tried to kiss him."

"Well, that's not too bad, I suppose." She studies his flaming cheeks carefully. "What are you not telling me, Malfoy?"

"It...I - "

"It's you, isn't it?"

(_whoops_)

* * *

"Look, Scorpius...I didn't mean to - " Rose runs a frustrated hand through her hair. "I don't like you like _that_ or anything. I was just drunk...and horny."

"I - " He pauses, not really wanting to say anything.

"It's no big deal."

"Maybe you're making it into too much of a _small_ deal."

Oh merlin, he did _not_ just say that out loud.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Excuse...excuse...he searches around for one, before eventually giving in and deciding to confess, like he's been meaning to for weeks now.

What's the worst she can say, right?

Other than 'I hate you, go die.'

"I bloody fancy you, don't I?"

She blinks.

She blinks again.

"You fucking _weirdo_. _Me_?" Yeah, that he wasn't expecting. "What the hell is _wrong_ with you?"

"Seriously? _That's_ your knee-jerk reaction? To put yourself down?"

Rose struggles for words for a while, rubbing the bags under her eyes cautiously while he waits, what feels like an eternity, for a response. "_What?_"

"Come on, you didn't see that coming? I paid for your concert ticket for Merlin's sake, that isn't exactly something I would do for _anyone_."

Taking a seat on the bed, she places her head in her hands, massaging her temples slowly. "So, um, where do we go from here?"

"I don't know. I've never...actually _been_ in a relationship before."

"Neither have I. So, are we...in _one_ then?"

"I guess."

He chooses this time to make his move, hesitant though he may be.

"I, er, think we're supposed to kiss or something."

(_and her reply, simple and short - okay - is like Heaven_)

* * *

I don't own Harry Potter/Rose/Scorpius/any band that vaguely resembles Mortuus es Me

So, what did you think? Sucky? Good? Too short? (it's a hell of a lot shorter than the first chapter, that I can say) Favourite section? Least favourite section? REVIEW!

Virtual Hugs to:

**The Eclectic Bookworm** - cool name by the way, it's funny because I thought that one wasn't very good, so your review made me happy! : )

**Guest, the second one (unless the first guest is the second guest in disguise...plot twist!) - **you got your wish. : )

**dcc **- Scorpius/Rose is actually one of my minor ships, so it might be just ignorance on my part, but I've never read _any_ bad-girl Rose fics, so I thought it would be interesting to do this.

**Guest (the first one)** - I'm glad you enjoyed - I just got kinda fed up of reading nerdy shy Rose/badass womanising Scorpius, so that's why I wrote this.


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